


the four times emma is at his door, and the one time she lets herself in

by arexnna



Series: lost stars [6]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 04:20:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2927564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arexnna/pseuds/arexnna





	the four times emma is at his door, and the one time she lets herself in

**_one._ **

It’s pathetic really, how she’s been glancing over at him every few minutes for the past two hours, waiting for the right time to talk to him. She’s almost definitely sure that he knows she’s been looking at him, given by the way he laughs obnoxiously, the way he smiles _too_ brightly and the way he flirts to overtly with Ruby from behind the counter.

If she didn’t know better, she’d say he was trying to make her jealous – but _because_ she _does_ know better- _nope_ , he probably is trying to get her jealous.

(She can assure _anyone_ , that it is _not_ working)

Just as she sees that Ruby’s done giving him smirks and throwing him winks, she moves to get– but, _of course_ Neal swoops in. He slides in the booth across her, smile so wide that the corner of his eyes crinkle.

And for a moment, just like that, she forgets all the pain this man has caused her, disremembers the scars he’d inflicted on her soul after all these years.

But the moment is just that. She feels herself harden again as she sends him a tightlipped smile.

He talks about how he’s so relieved and _so_ looking forward to sleeping in a proper bed for the first time in weeks, how he can’t wait to spend some real time with Henry, and something about lunch, and— her mind drifts off, the smile still plastered to her face as her eyes flit from him, to her fiddling fingers, to the pirate that’s sitting—no, _leaving_ the diner.

She excuses herself, not even paying attention to the confused look on Neal’s face, reflexively answering with a _‘What? Yeah, sure,’_ to his question that sounded a lot like _‘how about we have lunch tomorrow?’_

“Wait!” she calls after him as the door closes behind her, a cold gush of wind brushing past her face. “Hook!”

He responds to his moniker, turning on his heel and lifting his brows in curiosity when he realizes it’s her. “Swan?”

“I— um,” she walks towards him until there’s a safe distance between them – and of course the safety of the space is tainted when he steps in, “I,” she continues, trying not to falter from the personal space she now does not have, and of course, failing miserably. She shakes her head, “Where are you staying?”

“Excuse me?” he cocks his head back in surprise, and amused smirk growing on his lips.

“I mean—,” she adds quickly, realizing how her words could be taken, “You’re not staying on your ship are you?”

“I am,” he says slowly, unsure of what he should or should not be answering. “Why’d you ask?”

 _Here it is_ , she braces herself for the unavoidable innuendo she has coming her way. Except-

It doesn’t come.

Instead, he looks at her with furrowed brows, and she can’t believe that she’s actually surprised there are no winks coming her way.

“You should stay at Granny’s,” she says confidently, as if part of the reason why she’s asking him to stay there is _not_ because she has an irrational fear that he may sail off in the middle of the night.

“Alas, I haven’t the currency this world uses, only gold coins and stolen valuables,” he smiles cheekily at her, flashing his white teeth, contrasting with the darkening sky, before he gives her a slight bow and spins back around.

She’s puzzled to say the least, can’t really understand this new way of how he’s acting with her, but she doesn’t give herself time to mull over the thought. She grabs his arm and tugs him back. “Stay at Granny’s – I’ll get something sorted out for you.”

He lets out a defeated sigh and that’s all the encouragement she needs drag him right back into the doors of the diner.

-/-

“Here’s your door key, and you just put it in the lock and turn it like—“

He stops her with a hand on hers, “Swan, I may be old, but I’m certainly not daft,” he teases, removing her hand from the knob and unlocking the door himself. “Remind me again why Granny Lucas herself couldn’t show me to my room herself? Or Ruby for that matter,” he adds with a grin.

It catches her off guard, but she doesn’t let it show, masking her jealousy with a smooth cover. “I’m sure they were busy – just thought that I could help out,” she shrugs. He doesn’t push- or she doesn’t give him time to push, changing the topic quickly before he can add a smirk or anything of the sort. “I also wanted to thank you –“ she shifts from foot to foot, all the while keeping a cool face, “we wouldn’t have been able to save Henry without you.”

He grants her a genuine smile, “Aye, but even without me, I’m sure you lot would’ve figured out a way to save him – the villains never do win, after all,” he adds, and she may be mistaken, but she catches a sense of sadness behind his words.

She constantly wonders about him, completely sure that under all the layers of leather there’s someone else behind the façade of innuendo. One day, she promises, she will find that man, uncover his truths and bury his lies. She’s unsure exactly what it is about him that intrigues her, perhaps it’s the lost look he has in his eyes when he doesn’t realize, or maybe it’s in the way he _really_ smiles.

Either way, she’ll find the real him, for after Pan, all they have is ample of villain-less times.

“Well, thank you still – for making the rescue easier,” she concedes, and he takes this with a gentle smile.

He pushes the door open, flicking on the light and examining the room, before turning back to her, “Well, good night then, Swan.”

He does his little bow again when she replies with a tight-smiled _good night, Hook_ , tired eyes still shining he closes the door, creating a barrier of wood in between them.

“Good night,” she murmurs again before walking back the direction she came.

-/-

_**two.** _

The digital clock by the nightstand reads _12:59AM_ and she hates herself for even thinking about it.

As if it wasn’t enough for her to drink two cups at dinner with her family and Regina, she’s laying in bed craving yet another warm cup of chocolate at 1am.

Twisting on the bed to see Henry fast asleep (the exact picture of a sweet young boy, worry-free and _happy,_ but unbeknownst to him, everything is at the exact opposite of happy), she makes the decision to sneak out of bed and into the kitchens.

Being town Savior _and_ Sheriff has its perks – one of them being unlimited access to the diner’s kitchens at the late hours of the night.

Pushing the door open, she slides into the diner, the door swinging back in place with a hushed swoosh.

She doesn’t notice him at first, the figure that sits quietly in the corner of the diner in the booth she’s sat at one too many times. So when he clears his throat, she jumps, leading to the drop of the mug on the kitchen counter.

Luckily enough, the fall isn’t steep, or Emma might have just lost her kitchen privileges.

“ _Jesus_ , you fucking scared me,” she says without having to turn around to look at the culprit, knowing already it’s him.

The sound of metal sliding against tiled floor tells her he’s settled down on a stool, most likely leaning over the counter perched on his arm. “I apologize,” he says quietly.

She turns just her head to look at him, an eyebrow raised as she turns on the kettle to boil water. His stare is glued to the counter, blank and tired, and she has the slightest feeling that it could correlate with his odd behavior from earlier.

“It’s 1 in the morning.”

“I needed a drink,” he answers her not-so question, flashing her his flask as evidence, “much like you, I see.”

“Our choice of refreshments differ though,” she teases, but all she gets back is a tight smile. “We missed you at dinner,” she mentions as she turns her attentions back towards her drink. “Where were you anyway?”

There is a pause before he speaks, as though he needs to think of his words carefully, and Emma notes that, telling herself to catch upcoming lies, _just in case,_ she tells herself. She trusts him, she’d even told Regina that she does, but something’s _off_ and she’s going to find out what it is.

“I was by the docks for awhile, finding solace in the ocean,” his tone is somber when he talks of the ocean (yet another thing she makes note of asking him about in the future), “and then I came here.”

She stirs the drink, allowing her time to think through her words, “Didn’t you eat?” she asks, and it’s only when the words slip out from her mouth does she realize how odd it sounds. Since when had she worried over whether he’s had dinner or not?

“Didn’t have the appetite.”

“Aren’t you hungry now? I could whip something—“

“Fret not, love – I’m fine.” He pushes himself off the stool, tucking it back under the counter and makes a move to go, “I think I best be off to bed. Long day tomorrow, most likely.”

He sends her another tight lipped smile, turning towards the door when, “ _Wait!”_ He pauses in the turn, twisting back to her with a tiredly raised eyebrow. It brings her back to another time – back when they’d all thought they were safe from Neverland and from demonic not-so teenaged boys. “Wait for me,” she hears herself saying and for some reason, it doesn’t sound as light as it should mean. “I’m almost done here,” she adds after a pause and he nods quietly in response, his stance slumping as he tucks his flask away.

Mug in hand, heat of the hot chocolate warming her fingers, she smiles at him, nodding her head towards the door. She moves first and he follows closely behind, making sure to push open the door for her and she can’t help but think of _‘I’m always a gentlemen’_ , and a nostalgic smile appears on her lips.

It never ceases to amaze her how much things have changed over a short period of time. Sometimes, she feels as though it was just last week when the two of them had climbed a damn beanstalk ( _yes, it still gets to her_ ).

His room is closer than hers, so when she halts by his door, he looks at her surprised. “I didn’t think you’d still remember where my room was,” he smirks and _there he is_.

“Well, it feels like just a couple of days ago,” she shrugs, and – _there he goes –_ at the fading smirk, she realizes that it _hadn’t_ been like a couple days for him.

(She has no idea how hard that year was for him. For him, it was over 300 days thinking about something that would never be his, 12 months of nightmared sleeps of a voice coming from a woman with blonde hair and green eyes muttering his name. For him, it was hundreds of bottles of rum, attempting to drown out the visions of the woman he’d never have)

(For him, it was a bitter mix of heaven and hell)

He lets out a hollow laugh, “Aye, I guess it does.”

“Right,”

“Well,” they both say at the same time, but he allows her to go first, always just following her. “I better get to bed – I wouldn’t want Henry to wake up worrying,” she adds as an excuse.

“Aye,” he nods in agreement, fitting in the key into its lock and opening the door. She gets a glimpse of his room, how he’s made the little rented room to be _his_ – the maps stuck on the wall, spyglass perched on the table and other nautical things she doesn’t know the names of that lie neatly in the room. “Till tomorrow, Swan,” he says, stepping into the room, body still facing her and hand on the wood of the door, now blocking her view of the inside.

“Right, tomorrow,” she echoes, her lips tilting upwards slightly – a gesture he doesn’t return. He nods, his blue eyes tired and she swears they’re trying to tell her a message.

_Killian, what’s wrong?_

She wants to ask, needs to – yet her lack of bravery shows again, and she says nothing, allowing him to close the door on her.

She sighs, _déjà vu._

-/-

**_three._ **

“Swan!” his voice booms from across the street, and she can hear his boots hitting the pavement.

“Hey,” she turns, and he’s already halfway across the road, jogging towards her and the smile on his lips grows wider as he approaches. When he reaches her, his eyes sparkle along with his teeth, adorably trying to hide his panting, and she can’t help her heart stuttering at the sight before her. She’s never had anyone look at her the way he does – with such glee and joy and excitement, with his dimples flashing and his blue eyes shining.

“How was she?” he asks with a crooked smile, his hand moving to play with the curls of her hair.

She doesn’t stop the smile that appears on her lips at his little antic, “She didn’t really want to talk, but I think she’ll be alright.”

“It’s progress,” he replies. Tilting his head, he smirks at her, “How about we go and watch that net-thing like you said before?” His tongue darts out to moisten his lips, and _god_ does she want to be the one moistening those lips.

“Well,” her hand moves up to the lapel of his coat by its own volition, and she pulls him that much closer. (In the back of her mind, she’s reminded that they are in fact on the street where anyone could see them, but she pushes that thought and her usual disgust at public displays of affection away.) “My parents, son and brother are at home, so I doubt we’d get our quiet moment there.”

“Ah,” he adds thoughtfully, “aren’t we lucky that I have an empty room over at the inn?” The look he gives her should be illegal, the way he quirks his eyebrow up just the slightest and how he bites softly at his bottom lip makes her weak in the knees.

“Sounds like a brilliant idea.”

-/-

They fumble through the hallways of the inn clumsily, stopping every few feet to push the other against the wall as their mouths fuse together at every available moment. They make it to his door and she slips the key from his pocket, shaky hands fumbling trying to fit it in while soft lips trail down her neck, the jacket she wears sliding off her shoulders to give him more area to cover.

When she hears the click, she cheers internally, but when he’s about to pull her in, his hand in hers, her phone goes off, the ringtone telling her that it’s her father that’s calling.

Both of them let out a long sigh, the interruption most likely putting an end to the mood, and she lets go of his hand to reach into her pocket and retrieve her phone. His arms slumps to his side as Emma gives him a rueful look before answering the call.

“Mmm,” she says, “Alright, yeah, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

She ends the call and gives him a tired look. “Mom’s going all crazy and she wanted this ‘1 week of the baby being safe’ celebration dinner thing, that completely slipped my mind.”

He looks at her thoughtfully, taking a moment to examine her words, face and emotions – and _god damn it_ , _he’s reading her_.

“There’s something more,” he says quietly. “You’re feeling neglected, aren’t you? They weren’t there for your first steps or your first _anything_ , but with your brother, the slightest things won’t go uncelebrated.

“Yeah,” is all she says, always amazed at the way he’s able to read her better than even she can.

“You should go love, it may hurt, but in the future, it’s these kinds of things you’ll find you regret.”’

She thinks that maybe in another life, he could’ve been a philosopher, given by the way his words flow so effortlessly off his tongue. But luckily, in this life, he’s a pirate – _her_ pirate – with eyes like the ocean and lips so soft she could spend all day kissing – _one day,_ she promises herself.

“You’re right,” she concludes, leaning her head against the wall of the hallway.

“Good night then, love,” he smiles, leaning in to kiss her once more for the day, when she turns suddenly away. The look he gives her is confusion, but it soon vanishes when she tugs on his arm to follow her.

He manages to close his door as she pulls him away, already able to tell that there’s a plan going on in his Swan’s head.

“You’re coming with me,” is all she gives as explanation.

-/-

Dinner is awkward at first, but once the ice thaws (no pun to the recent events intended), conversation flows smoothly.

When she turns to look at him, his smile is large and genuine.

Maybe it’s too early for those three words (it definitely is), so she settles on, _‘I really, really like you’_ at the end of the day when he kisses her goodnight by her door.

-/-

**_four._ **

“I told you, Swan,” he whispers against her lips, “I’m a survivor.”

She can’t help but smile at that, the relief of him being okay settling in, but at the back of her mind she knows how close he was to _not being okay_. She pushes the thought away, focusing on the words he’d once told her – _here and now_.

Not wanting to ruin their quiet moment, she leans in for another kiss, a soft, tender, _loving_ kiss and she begins to wonder if she can really pinpoint the moment she’d realized she’d loved him.

(Maybe it was when she was about to witness his death – or maybe when Snow Queen threatened his life)

(Sometimes, she feels like it might’ve been when he’d sat across the table from her – _I came back to save you_ , he says, to which she tells him she’s in love with another man and yet he still stands by her side – and maybe it’s then when she falls)

(Other times have her convinced that it was their very first kiss – the one in Neverland where they wouldn’t have gotten to without him – when she’d began collapsing her walls for the man with eyes like the sky)

(Most of the time, she realizes it doesn’t really matter. For all that matters is that she _does_ and that she doesn’t have a doubt in her mind that he feels the same way too)

“You’re tired,” she murmurs, forehead resting against his, noses brushing as she closes her eyes allowing herself to bask in the moment. “We should get you to bed.”

He grumbles playfully, “Only if you’ll come with me.”

She can’t help the small laugh, pressing her lips once more to his. “Maybe later, I have to check on someone for awhile.”

He lets out a long sigh as she wiggles out from his arms, dragging him along towards his room. “You said that the last time,” he whines, playing the part of a tantrum-throwing child to perfection.

She doesn’t stop the smile that grows on her face as she drags her grumbling _maybe-_ boyfriend (she really doesn’t know what to call him – boyfriend sounds to immature, lover sounds too _lover_ , so she’s settled on _maybe-boyfriend_ ) to his room.

When she unlocks the door, his _how did you get that_ is answered before he finishes asking when she tells him that she’d slipped it from his pocket back downstairs.

All he does is smirk and murmur _‘pirate’_.

They kiss one last time at his door, his thumb smoothing down the side of her face slower than usual until it finally meets the dimple in her chin.

“Go to sleep.”

He nods, “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

She nods.

When she walks away, he calls out, “You know, you’ve never once been in my room.”

She turns her head, smile evident on that side, “Oh? Well, we’ll have to change that soon, now don’t we?”

He laughs out a _bloody hell_ before she reaches the top of the stairs, the sound of the door closing quietly behind her, and her smile grows even wider.

-/-

She _has_ always been curious. While she knew magic did wonderful (and sometimes _not_ so wonderful) things, a book writing about the lives of _real_ people on its own is where she draws the line.

As much as she’d love to spend some time with her own kid, she knows Regina needs him more – so when the awkward ‘ _who’s-house-do-I-sleep-in-tonight’_ situation arises, she doesn’t bat an eye before telling Henry he could stay with his other mother.

Regina sends her a warm smile, probably the closest she’ll get to _thank you_ from the lady, and she looks at it as progress, that maybe one day, both Henry’s mothers could be amiable towards each other without having the threat of a magic fireball being thrown at the other.

She doesn’t even consider going home – the only place she really wants to be is in a small room in Granny’s. So when she finds herself standing by the front of a familiar door, she can’t even say she’s surprised at why she’s there.

Long ago, the very first time she brings him to his room, Granny had given her two keys to give to Killian. However, only one key reached him – the other key seeming to get stuck in her jacket pocket for god knows what reason.

She unlocks the door quietly, turning the knob slowly and pushing through gently. She’s scared of two things – one, being waking him up from his much needed rest; and two, having him already up and prepared to attack at the sound of the intruder with his hook at the ready.

She’s safe from both those fears.

When she closes the door, she turns to a soundly sleeping Killian – hook laid by the nightstand, eyes shut in peaceful bliss and ( _very_ toned) chest bare and tempting.

Shrugging off her jacket, she wiggles out of her pants, refusing to sleep in skintight jeans no matter what they’ll think of her. She slides into bed, under the covers and into warm arms, pressing a soft kiss on the inside of his wrist.

He stirs then, not even half surprised at the new occupant in his bed (and _should she talk to him about that?_ ). He pulls her closer, pressing his lips to the crook of her neck and nuzzling his nose in there.

“Goodnight, Swan.”

“’Night, Killian.”

-/-


End file.
